The Vixen

I took hold of his hand and led him to the garden. It was getting dark. We made out the stars appearing in a young night sky, the half-crescent moon. The lawn was surrounded by shrubs, bushes, and overhanging trees, creating a feeling of privacy, peace, quiet. We were alone. I took a deep breath, relishing the fresh evening air, reached for him, drew him to me, and kissed him.

He responded parting his lips, opening his mouth. I explored his palate, savouring his flavour, coating my flickering tongue in his saliva. He crushed me in his arms. When I eventually came up for air, I was panting, breathless, clamouring for him, gasping, ‘Think we should go and play on the swing now, don’t you?’

I took off my t-shirt. I wasn’t wearing a bra. My back was dripping with sweat. I took his breath away. He couldn’t speak. There was a child’s swing in the corner of the garden. I led him there. I forced him to perch on the seat while I unbuttoned his shirt, undid the stud on his cords, unzipped his fly, and slid my hand inside his pants. He groaned as I played with him on the swing, running my tongue on his neck. My langue explored his torso, licking his stiff nipples, tasting the salty tang of sweat in his navel. Tenderly, I caressed his proud, velvety flesh with my soft hand, rolling back his tight foreskin, squeezing his full, taut sac until he felt fit to burst.

‘How does that feel, good?’ I said.

He didn’t know how to answer. I knelt in the grass, grasping him, sucking his stiff cock then I spat him out, dribbling his cum mixed with my saliva, stared into his flushed face and asked, ‘Would you like to fuck me?’

He said he would.

I spoke to him as if he were my child, ‘Shall we go inside then, see if we can find a bed?’

‘I don’t have a sheath.’

I felt inside my back pocket, and took out a thin silver foil pouch.

‘It’s alright,’ I intimated, ‘I’ve got one. Come with me.’

I tucked his cock inside his pants, put on my t-shirt, held his clammy hand?—?and led him to the scullery door. Gripping his hand, I negotiated the animalistic lair of bodies writhing on the floor. We reached the stairs. I felt him tense.

He turned to me and confessed, ‘I’ve never made love to a girl before.’

I smiled at him, lovingly, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.’

My love, my care, my warmth towards him, infected him. He loved my smile, wanted to make me happy, always. Eager for me to take the lead, he followed me upstairs, his eyes fixed firmly on my rear, avoiding knowing glances from a handful of sober voyeurs.

The sensual thrill waves permeated my body. Trembling with anticipation, I brought my lover to the threshold. We ventured to the open door and peeked inside. The bedside lamps were switched on, casting gloomy shadows. He hesitated. I kissed him fully on the lips, rubbing his crotch, stimulating him, hardening him even more, murmuring, ‘Shall we go inside?’

I entered first, followed by him. My chest felt tight with expectation. I shut the door, blinding prying eyes, turned the key in its lock, slid all the bolts in place. The bathroom was at the far end of the room, beyond the giant-sized bed.

I squeezed his hand, ‘I have to go to the toilet to prepare myself. Will you wait for me?’

For the first time, he smiled, ‘Of course, I’ll wait for you. I love you.’

He made me blush. I let go of his hand, pecking him on both cheeks, his lovebird. No-one ever uttered those words to me. My soul sank at the thought of our parting, the morning after. I needed him, wanted to reciprocate his feelings, couldn’t bring myself to say the beautiful words for fear of breaking his heart.

I struggled to control my emotions, stinging inside with guilt. Tonight, I’d give myself to him. Heartbroken, I told him to switch off the light, take off his clothes, lie on the bed, wait for me to make love to him.

*****

I crept into the bedroom, took off my t-shirt, jeans, and panties, strewing them over the carpet then, naked as the day I was born, I climbed on the bed, to kneel beside him.

Our intense mood was interrupted by bangs on the door, a boy and girl’s slurred, drunk voices, ‘Let us in! Come on! You’ve had your five minutes!’

I gently stroked his belly, gliding my soft hand downwards into his hairy groin.

‘Ignore them,’ I soothed, ‘They’ll soon go away.’

He groaned as I sheathed him.

‘There,’ I whispered feeling his hard shaft, ‘Now keep still. Forget the world. Think about me.’

I straddled him so that he could feel the soft insides of my thighs rubbing against his hips, my fine hair brushing his hair, my belly resting lightly on his abdomen, I fed him into me. He loved my tenderness. I was tactile for him: relishing my impalement, fully aroused, holding his hands to my doughy breasts, my nipples stiff from his caress. My heart pounded. My breasts heaved.

He cried out for me, ‘I love you, Georgie! Love you, Georgie!’

I shuddered as his spasms and throbbing spurts of semen scintillated my clenching fuck-hole.

He’d come; it was over; he apologized. I comforted him, gently brushing his cheek with my hand, ‘You felt good! You were great!’

Masking my disappointment, I dismounted him, carefully grasping the root of his shrivelled stalk ensuring his spent sheath didn’t slip off inside my creaming wet cunt. Last thing I needed was a virgin’s baby, and yet I needed him…